Since the start of the new Trump administration (early 2025), we’ve seen an increase in federal law enforcement operations in major U.S. cities. In New York, Chicago, and Denver, federal agents (especially Immigration and Customs Enforcement – ICE) have conducted widespread immigration enforcement actions, often without coordination with local police. In Newark, residents filmed armed federal officers making arrests outside schools. In Los Angeles, reports emerged of families afraid to take their children to medical appointments for fear of encountering enforcement teams.
Public opposition to ICE activities has been intense. These operations are eroding the already fragile trust between local police and the communities they serve.
Police–community relations have been a problem for decades. Since at least the 1950s, police chiefs, police commissioners, and directors of public safety have tried one initiative after another (e.g., “neighborhood watch,” community policing, etc.) to build, strengthen, or improve their relationship with racial and ethnic minorities. Programs like Cincinnati’s collaborative agreement after the 2001 riots showed how sustained engagement could reduce tension and crime simultaneously. Other efforts, like superficial “listening sessions” without follow-through, produced only cynicism.
But the principle has remained constant across both successes and failures: trust is the foundation of effective policing. Without it, witnesses don’t come forward. Victims don’t report crimes. Communities become less safe for everyone.
Many chiefs hesitate to speak out, worried about jeopardizing federal funding streams or creating conflicts with federal partners they depend on for task forces and resources. They may also worry about pushback from city and county councils and the rank and file who may have Republican Party sentiments. These are important considerations. But they pale in comparison to the damage being done right now to relationships that took years to build and can be destroyed in weeks.
If today’s chiefs truly believe that community trust matters, they can’t stay silent while federal agents damage the very relationships they’ve spent careers trying to repair. Speaking out doesn’t require grandstanding. At least four possible actions can be taken:
Issuing Joint statements from organizations such as the Major Cities Chiefs Association or the International Chiefs of Police, making clear that uncoordinated federal enforcement undermines local public safety
Make Public announcements (via media channels, at city or county councils, etc.) that local officers will not participate in or provide information for immigration enforcement operations.
Directly communicate with affected communities about what role local police will and won’t play.
Collect and disseminate data that indicates how these operations impact crime reporting and community cooperation.
Admittedly, this will create tension with federal authorities. But protecting community trust isn’t a partisan position. It’s a professional imperative. Chiefs (and those coming up in police organizations behind them) who’ve built their careers on the principle that legitimacy matters can’t abandon it when political winds shift.
Silence is complicity. And it’s long past time for leadership.
Photo Credit
Photographer: Paul Goyette
Content: Activists protesting against ICE confront Chicago police,
https://jeffreyianross.com/wp-content/uploads/54580851557_fc81173975_o-scaled.jpg17072560Jeffrey Ian Rosshttps://jeffreyianross.com/wp-content/uploads/jeffrey-ian-ross-logo-04.pngJeffrey Ian Ross2025-11-02 13:13:312025-11-02 13:27:39America’s Police Chiefs Must Speak Out
Over the past few weeks, considerable media attention has been given to protestors wearing inflatable or oversized novelty suits at anti-Trump demonstrations, including the recent No Kings protests. And yes, most of the people dressed up as frogs, dinosaurs, unicorns, and chickens look like they’re having fun. But as these images circulate, it’s worth asking whether the spectacle that attracts attention might also dilute what that attention is for.
Admittedly, there are at least three main reasons why these costumes have become popular at these venues. First, they provide memorable visuals that spread across social media, increasing the protest’s reach and visibility. Second, their absurdity and the humor they create help keep the atmosphere light and nonviolent, signaling that these gatherings are meant to be peaceful and friendly. Third, the imagery helps undercut Trump and his allies’ narrative that protestors are violent extremists, because it’s difficult to take that claim seriously when the demonstrators include inflatable chickens.
These are all legitimate tactical advantages, and protest movements throughout history have used the power of humor and performance in shaping their communication strategies. For example, the Yippies’ absurdist protests in the 1960s and ACT UP’s theatrical demonstrations in the 1980s both used spectacle to dramatize the importance of their causes. Their tactics were entertaining, but the laughter served a direct political purpose.
But I wonder if something gets lost in translation. When protest images go viral primarily because they’re entertaining rather than because they communicate specific demands, there’s a risk that observers remember the spectacle without engaging with the substance. The question isn’t whether people in dinosaur suits are taking the issues seriously, but whether their chosen medium of expression helps or hinders their political message from landing with audiences who need persuading.
I’m not suggesting that protesters should abandon humor or embrace solemnity. Nor am I insisting there’s only one “correct” way to protest. Different tactics reach different audiences, and humor can make difficult political messages more accessible. But it’s worth asking: when someone sees an inflatable chicken, are they more likely to consider the protest’s demands, or do they simply keep scrolling? Does the costume invite curiosity about the cause, or does it become the entire story?
Maybe I’m overthinking this, and the protesters themselves are best positioned to judge what works. But in an attention economy, like the one we currently live with, I hope the message doesn’t get buried beneath the costume.
Image Credit
Title: No Kings Protest
(location Madison, Wisconsin, October 18, 2025
Photographer: Kevin Fager
https://jeffreyianross.com/wp-content/uploads/54863553031_a29f98b455_o-scaled.jpg20482560Jeffrey Ian Rosshttps://jeffreyianross.com/wp-content/uploads/jeffrey-ian-ross-logo-04.pngJeffrey Ian Ross2025-10-26 05:35:432025-10-26 05:35:43Are Inflatable Costumes Helping or Hurting the Protest Message?
Living beside a used car lot can teach you about noise, boundaries, and the limits of goodwill.
Years ago, I lived in a low-rise apartment in Toronto’s Little Portugal, right next to a small lot that sold used cars. Most of their customers were newcomers buying their first vehicle, and the salesmen hustled hard. But as neighbors, they could be… challenging.
They’d rigged the office phone to a loudspeaker outside so they wouldn’t miss calls while working the lot. Too often, they forgot to switch it off at night. We’d hear the ringing phones and fragments of messages people left long after midnight.
Friends, relatives, and former customers who were passing in front of the business would sometimes slow down (disrupting the traffic flow) and honk as they drove by. And sometimes salesmen, friends, and customers would attempt to burn rubber on the small lot in noisy and smoky displays of bravado. It was a mixed-use neighborhood, after all, but the line between liveliness and disruption blurred fast.
Occasionally, someone would steal a car. One night, under the overpowering security lighting on the lot, my neighbors and I watched a man jack up a vehicle and remove the entire transmission. I’m sure the owners had insurance, but each theft still meant paperwork, deductibles, and hassle.
The police would occasionally make the rounds, knocking on doors to ask if we’d seen anything. There was always a polite chorus of “no,” and plenty of feigned surprise.
The truth is, we saw plenty. If the car lot owner and crew had been better neighbors, if they’d kept the noise down, turned off the loudspeaker, shown a little consideration, we might have looked out for them.
But they didn’t, and we didn’t. The boundary between tolerance and indifference had long since been crossed.
I eventually moved away. In time, both the apartment building and the car lot fell to the developer’s wrecking ball, and with them, the noise.
https://jeffreyianross.com/wp-content/uploads/Screenshot-2025-10-12-at-5.11.17-PM.png9701754Jeffrey Ian Rosshttps://jeffreyianross.com/wp-content/uploads/jeffrey-ian-ross-logo-04.pngJeffrey Ian Ross2025-10-12 21:58:212025-10-13 00:10:17The Used Car Lot Next Door
America’s Police Chiefs Must Speak Out
/by Jeffrey Ian RossSince the start of the new Trump administration (early 2025), we’ve seen an increase in federal law enforcement operations in major U.S. cities. In New York, Chicago, and Denver, federal agents (especially Immigration and Customs Enforcement – ICE) have conducted widespread immigration enforcement actions, often without coordination with local police. In Newark, residents filmed armed federal officers making arrests outside schools. In Los Angeles, reports emerged of families afraid to take their children to medical appointments for fear of encountering enforcement teams.
Public opposition to ICE activities has been intense. These operations are eroding the already fragile trust between local police and the communities they serve.
Police–community relations have been a problem for decades. Since at least the 1950s, police chiefs, police commissioners, and directors of public safety have tried one initiative after another (e.g., “neighborhood watch,” community policing, etc.) to build, strengthen, or improve their relationship with racial and ethnic minorities. Programs like Cincinnati’s collaborative agreement after the 2001 riots showed how sustained engagement could reduce tension and crime simultaneously. Other efforts, like superficial “listening sessions” without follow-through, produced only cynicism.
But the principle has remained constant across both successes and failures: trust is the foundation of effective policing. Without it, witnesses don’t come forward. Victims don’t report crimes. Communities become less safe for everyone.
Many chiefs hesitate to speak out, worried about jeopardizing federal funding streams or creating conflicts with federal partners they depend on for task forces and resources. They may also worry about pushback from city and county councils and the rank and file who may have Republican Party sentiments. These are important considerations. But they pale in comparison to the damage being done right now to relationships that took years to build and can be destroyed in weeks.
If today’s chiefs truly believe that community trust matters, they can’t stay silent while federal agents damage the very relationships they’ve spent careers trying to repair. Speaking out doesn’t require grandstanding. At least four possible actions can be taken:
Admittedly, this will create tension with federal authorities. But protecting community trust isn’t a partisan position. It’s a professional imperative. Chiefs (and those coming up in police organizations behind them) who’ve built their careers on the principle that legitimacy matters can’t abandon it when political winds shift.
Silence is complicity. And it’s long past time for leadership.
Photo Credit
Photographer: Paul Goyette
Content: Activists protesting against ICE confront Chicago police,
Are Inflatable Costumes Helping or Hurting the Protest Message?
/by Jeffrey Ian RossOver the past few weeks, considerable media attention has been given to protestors wearing inflatable or oversized novelty suits at anti-Trump demonstrations, including the recent No Kings protests. And yes, most of the people dressed up as frogs, dinosaurs, unicorns, and chickens look like they’re having fun. But as these images circulate, it’s worth asking whether the spectacle that attracts attention might also dilute what that attention is for.
Admittedly, there are at least three main reasons why these costumes have become popular at these venues. First, they provide memorable visuals that spread across social media, increasing the protest’s reach and visibility. Second, their absurdity and the humor they create help keep the atmosphere light and nonviolent, signaling that these gatherings are meant to be peaceful and friendly. Third, the imagery helps undercut Trump and his allies’ narrative that protestors are violent extremists, because it’s difficult to take that claim seriously when the demonstrators include inflatable chickens.
These are all legitimate tactical advantages, and protest movements throughout history have used the power of humor and performance in shaping their communication strategies. For example, the Yippies’ absurdist protests in the 1960s and ACT UP’s theatrical demonstrations in the 1980s both used spectacle to dramatize the importance of their causes. Their tactics were entertaining, but the laughter served a direct political purpose.
But I wonder if something gets lost in translation. When protest images go viral primarily because they’re entertaining rather than because they communicate specific demands, there’s a risk that observers remember the spectacle without engaging with the substance. The question isn’t whether people in dinosaur suits are taking the issues seriously, but whether their chosen medium of expression helps or hinders their political message from landing with audiences who need persuading.
I’m not suggesting that protesters should abandon humor or embrace solemnity. Nor am I insisting there’s only one “correct” way to protest. Different tactics reach different audiences, and humor can make difficult political messages more accessible. But it’s worth asking: when someone sees an inflatable chicken, are they more likely to consider the protest’s demands, or do they simply keep scrolling? Does the costume invite curiosity about the cause, or does it become the entire story?
Maybe I’m overthinking this, and the protesters themselves are best positioned to judge what works. But in an attention economy, like the one we currently live with, I hope the message doesn’t get buried beneath the costume.
Image Credit
Title: No Kings Protest
(location Madison, Wisconsin, October 18, 2025
Photographer: Kevin Fager
The Used Car Lot Next Door
/by Jeffrey Ian RossLiving beside a used car lot can teach you about noise, boundaries, and the limits of goodwill.
Years ago, I lived in a low-rise apartment in Toronto’s Little Portugal, right next to a small lot that sold used cars. Most of their customers were newcomers buying their first vehicle, and the salesmen hustled hard. But as neighbors, they could be… challenging.
They’d rigged the office phone to a loudspeaker outside so they wouldn’t miss calls while working the lot. Too often, they forgot to switch it off at night. We’d hear the ringing phones and fragments of messages people left long after midnight.
Friends, relatives, and former customers who were passing in front of the business would sometimes slow down (disrupting the traffic flow) and honk as they drove by. And sometimes salesmen, friends, and customers would attempt to burn rubber on the small lot in noisy and smoky displays of bravado. It was a mixed-use neighborhood, after all, but the line between liveliness and disruption blurred fast.
Occasionally, someone would steal a car. One night, under the overpowering security lighting on the lot, my neighbors and I watched a man jack up a vehicle and remove the entire transmission. I’m sure the owners had insurance, but each theft still meant paperwork, deductibles, and hassle.
The police would occasionally make the rounds, knocking on doors to ask if we’d seen anything. There was always a polite chorus of “no,” and plenty of feigned surprise.
The truth is, we saw plenty. If the car lot owner and crew had been better neighbors, if they’d kept the noise down, turned off the loudspeaker, shown a little consideration, we might have looked out for them.
But they didn’t, and we didn’t. The boundary between tolerance and indifference had long since been crossed.
I eventually moved away. In time, both the apartment building and the car lot fell to the developer’s wrecking ball, and with them, the noise.